


The Threat Beyond

by TehLadyCav



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (Comics), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Character Death, Dark, Depression, Eventual Smut, F/M, Guilt, Love Triangles, Mental Instability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:44:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7356013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehLadyCav/pseuds/TehLadyCav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peace only lasts for so long...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning

The winds whispered across the vast emptiness of the lonely meadow. Not even a mouse was in sight on that clear morning. 

It was the perfect spot for a meeting space. Neutral territory. Nonthreatening, gentle, placid. Decorated with spring flowers that dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see. Vibrant and full of color after the long, dull winter.

The area had been picked over, scoured, chosen for just that reason.

And on that warm sunny April morning, two women approached each other from opposing sides. At first glance one of the women seemed like the meadow. Open and fair. Her dark hair was pulled back into a curling ponytail that ran down her small back. Her face was rounded with a slight point to her chin, giving her a youthful appearance. However, her eyes betrayed her age. Her eyes were far older than her years. Her dark eyes bored into the very soul of things. 

The other woman looked like one of Them. One of the dead ones that roamed the earth in search of sating a never ending hunger by way of flesh. But she did not walk or stumble like one of Them. No, she walked straight backed and proud.

Neither woman carried a weapon out of respect for the other. It was the way they'd planned it. So carefully planned down to the very last detail. Nothing was to go awry. It could jeopardize things for both of them. They knew it.

They stopped feet away, watching each other with a wary eye. 

And then the second woman pulled off her skin. The dead skin that made her look like one of Them. Underneath, she was tall, comely and bald. Her face was hard and unyielding, though she wore a small smile. The superficial curve of her full lips did not extend to those cold, cold eyes. 

The two women regarded each other with equally frosty stares. Both were equally dangerous in different ways. Both highly intelligent with two very different skill sets. And both equally lethal provided the circumstances were favorable.

It was the tall, bald woman who spoke first, lifting her chin with pride as she stared down the shorter, younger woman. “Here is the deal. You do not come onto our territory and we will not come onto yours. If you do, there will be consequences.”

“I can live with that,” the small woman replied as she clasped her hands in front of her. An attempt to appear as nonthreatening as possible.

The first woman flicked an invisible crumb from her shoulder. “You will stop killing my people at random.”

The second woman tossed her head. “You will stop fettering me, you will stop chasing me, you will stop shooting at me.”

“Agreed.”

“I don't want to kill anymore of your people. I will if I have to.”

The bald woman snorted. “I command an entire herd, little girl.”

“You know what I'm capable of. I would tread lightly.”

“The same applies to you.”

The other woman merely raised her brows. “It would seem that you haven't learned your lesson.”

“And it would seem like you need schooling.”

The dark haired woman smiled. “Oh, I think not.”

“Don't test me.”

“Cut the shit. You can either attempt to kill me now or we can make peace.”

The first woman sneered. “Peace is a mere illusion. Peace is a concept formed by a society that no longer exists.”

“Peace may be an illusion, Alpha, but don't forget death comes just as swift as it used to. For some, swifter than others. You may want to keep that in mind, love.”

“Don't patronize me little girl. You're stupid if you think you'll get away clean.”

The second woman laughed as she spread her hands wide. “I've more blood on my hands than in my entire body. Some of those were your people. Which I'm sure you're aware of.”

Alpha said nothing which made the dark haired girl smile. 

“Here's the thing. I know you have a kid,” she said softly making Alpha's gaze snap to her rounded face. “The last thing I want to do is harm an innocent.”

Alpha tilted her head upward as she looked down on the other woman. “You too have a child.”

“Yes. So let's make peace so they can both grow up.”

Alpha blinked at her. “That would be agreeable...”

“Good. This meadow is neutral territory. Anything beyond to the east is mine. West is yours.”

“Also agreeable.”

The two women stood in silence each surveying the meadow, marking territory, making notations of anything out of the ordinary. Each shuffling from foot to foot, avoiding the gaze of the other. Each lost in their own thoughts. The dark haired girl fidgeted with the hem of her vest while Alpha's sharp eyes roamed the horizon.

Finally Alpha cleared her throat and nodded when the other woman glanced up from her feet. “So those are the terms?”

The dark haired girl didn't quite meet her eyes, but she nodded all the same.

“Good.”

A few more awkward shuffles between the two of them and then the dark haired girl bobbed her head. She backed away, never tearing her gaze from Alpha, only turning away when she was far enough back. Her strides were short and fast, hands clenched as she crunched away from Alpha.

Alpha watched the dark girl become a silhouette and then a dot and then disappear into the far off forest. She shook out the wilting skin and tied it on her face, a dead grotesque mask with a horrifying smile.

With a quick glance over her shoulder she noticed her men approaching. She smiled to herself as she turned back to stare into the dark woods.

“Alpha,” one of them muttered as he shuffled his feet.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “It is time.”

The smallest man in the group picked a fly from his shoulder. “For?”

“Death.”

The men looked at her with puzzlement in their eyes.

“Track her,” she said to them, a grin spreading on her face under the skin. “Find her. Kill her. Bring me her head and the head of her child.”


	2. Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This probably will be edited and reposted, but I felt like I needed to get something out tonight.  
> Also, I mentioned on my other story, I'm looking for a beta reader. Someone to help me become a better writer. I don't care if you're nitpicky, brutally honest. I'd prefer that honestly. I'm really looking for someone who will get back to me within a day or two, as I'm trying to update each of the three stories once a week (friday, saturday and sunday). If you want to help with all three that's amazing, but if you only want to commit to one that's awesome too. Anyway, it'd be much appreciated, just let me know :)  
> Also don't forget to look into the other two stories I have going--the prequel to Nayna's story: Back to Before and the AU Negan/Nayna focused story: When Worlds Collide.  
> You guys are the best!

RICK

Life was good. He had his children. He had Alexandria. He had coffee. Well, coffee substitute. Life was good, not perfect. And soon, if Maybelle and Eugene could get the printing press working, they would have a paper too.

He stood at the window, sipping the coffee—with real cream—and watching the sunrise. A simply thing he rarely got to do anymore.

Beyond the yard he could see people coming out and the hustle of the day beginning. It brought a smile to his face. They'd come so far in two short years. 

After breakfast Rick was slotted to check on the mill, the progress of the inn, the fair booth list and security. Another long day of meetings.

But he was beginning to get excited for the fair. For the first time all of the communities would be getting together in one place. People would be able to trade, bargain or simply show off their hard work. If things went well this year, then Rick would make sure it was an annual happening. People needed something to look forward to. Especially after the long, hard winter they'd had.

The bacon popped on the skillet, reminding him that he was cooking breakfast for the kids. He set the mug down and flipped the bacon as he stirred the eggs. Rick was coming to realize he was a simple man at heart and the little things mattered most. Bacon, eggs, coffee, his family...Almost all of his family...

He walked over to the stairs. “Judith! Carl! Breakfast!”

Upstairs he could hear the pounding of feet and he chuckled as he plated eggs and bacon with a slice of toast for each of them. He set the three plates carefully on the table and sat back down with his coffee.

Carl slid into the seat across from him and poked at his breakfast. He slumped over with his cheek smushed against his hand, elbow on the table.

Rick put the mug of coffee down. “What is it?”

He glanced up at Rick and sighed. “Dad...We need to talk.”

Rick ran a hand through his hair. He knew what Carl wanted. And he knew he wanted to say no. And yet, Carl was sixteen, almost seventeen. He wasn't a child any longer. Hadn't been a child for years. But Carl was his firstborn.

“Can it wait until tomorrow? I'll have the whole morning free, just for you.”

Carl chewed on his lip and then nodded. “Promise?”

Rick smiled and leaned over to ruffle his sons shaggy head. “Yes, I promise. Where is your sister?”

As if to answer his question there was a large thump from upstairs and then the heavy tread of little feet.

Carl snorted. “Elephant baby.”

“Am not!” Her little voice called from the top of the stairs. 

“Are too!”

Judith stomped down the stairs, a mess of curly blonde hair and mismatched pink and orange pajamas. She put her hands on her hips as she glared at Carl. “Am not times a thousand million.”

Carl grinned down at her. “Yeah, you are.”

She started to screw up her face when Rick cut in. “Okay, okay, enough. Judith go get dressed and brush your hair. You're going to be late for school. And so are you.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “Aren't I a little too old for school?”

Rick handed Carl his glasses.“You're never too old to learn, son.”

There were the usual moans and groans about school, but he managed to herd them out the door on time.

After he'd walked Judith and Carl to school—a little brick building where all the children were taught—he made his way towards the grand hall to meet with Olivia and Paula.

The grand hall. It would have made Nayna roll her eyes. But she would have smiled. She would be proud of all they'd done. He wished she were there to see it. She would love it. Hell, half of it was her dream, scrawled all over bits and pieces of paper he'd managed to scrape up from her house. 

Her house that still stood empty and lonely. Rick couldn't bear to put anyone there. Not after he found the collection of things Nayna had kept over the years. Things that he never knew she treasured. It was a part of herself she'd kept hidden away from everyone. He knew on some level she was sentimental—why else would she keep Shane's hat? He just didn't realize how much the deaths of everyone had touched her. All of the little mementos were carefully tucked away in a box under her bed. He'd recognized some things belonging to Hershel, Beth and Sophia, but even then he couldn't bear to turn them over. They'd become Nayna's. A part of her. Just as the lonely house was part of her essence. Sometimes, when he needed a break he would walk into her house and catch a comforting whiff of coconut and rose petals, reminding him of days gone by...

On his way he waved at people. People who were gardening, tending to their animals or making repairs on their houses. People who were living and not simply surviving. The thought made him smile.

Over the last two years Alexandria, Hilltop, the Kingdom and the Sanctuary had all flourished. There was plenty of food, water and people. The roads between the communities were constantly manned, and they had a herding committee that left on a moments notice to well, herd the Walkers away from all the communities.

They still had electricity and because of Eugene all the communities had clean, running water. Rick hadn't thought much of Eugene when they first met, but he'd become the biggest asset to the community. They couldn't have done half of it without him.

Rick stopped when he saw Daryl scuffing along the walkway, head down. He was dressed in his hunting leathers, carrying extra arrows and a Glock. 

“Hey Daryl, what's up?”

Daryl shook his head, shouldering his bag and crossbow. “Just going on a hunting trip.”

Rick raised his brows. “Another, so soon?”

Daryl shrugged. “Yeah, so? What's it to you?”

Rick shook his head and clapped his hand on Daryl's back. “No need to be so touchy. Hey Michonne.”

Michonne turned the corner, grinning as she popped a strawberry in her mouth. She sauntered over to them. “Daryl, you going on another trip? I think you have a girl out there that you're not telling us about.”

Daryl pushed Rick's hand off his shoulder. “I think--”

“--how's Ezekiel?” Rick cut over Daryl.

Her eyes flicked between the two of them but she smiled. “Good. Really good.”

Rick was genuinely glad to hear Michonne's happiness. She deserved it. Almost more than anyone he knew. 

Michonne held out the small container. “Strawberry?”

Both Rick and Daryl shook their heads.

She popped another strawberry in her mouth with a shrug and turned to Rick. “Where are you headed?”

“The grand hall. Olivia is supposed to go over inventory and necessity with me. Then off to the grand hall to see Paula about the agricultural report. Then to see Siddiq about the inn. Then Jesus for security. Full day ahead.”

Michonne grinned. “Sounds thrilling.”

Rick laughed. “Very much so. I'm actually getting excited for the fair.”

“It's so close now! I hope Siddiq has the Inn ready. Maggie is already pushing to have the fair at Hilltop,” Michonne said.

Rick pulled some of the notes from his pocket and flipped through them. “Nah, I have full confidence in Siddiq and his team.”

Michonne nodded and hiked her pants up. “Think you'll be back in time, Daryl?”

He shrugged. “I'd say yes, but the moment I do is when all hell will break loose. Nah, I have no clue.”

“Well, don't be gone too long Daryl, we do worry about you.”

“Thanks Michonne. I'll be fine. Done it a thousand times before.”

An awkward silence fell upon the three. Rick shuffled through his papers, not trusting himself to look at either of them for fear of giving himself away. Michonne sighed heavily and gazed towards the creaky windmill.

Daryl cleared his throat. “Any special requests?”

“No more squirrel!” Michonne and Rick said together. 

His eyes shifted between Michonne and Rick as he pressed his lips together. “If you two are done taking the piss out of everything, I'll be off now.”

He swiveled around and marched towards the front gate.

“Daryl!” Michonne called out after him. “Come on, Daryl!”

But he didn't turn around.

Michonne scowled. “What's gotten into him?”

Rick glanced back down a the papers in his hand with a shrug. “Maybe he just feels trapped here.”

“Whatever it is, it's made him an asshole lately.”

Rick rubbed a thumb against his lip and snorted. “Only lately?”

“Want me to walk you to the mill?”

“Sure thing. While you do that, why don't you update me on the fishing expedition?”

As Michonne walked next to him detailing her latest trip, Rick flicked through the papers. He nodded at certain intervals, but he wasn't really paying attention to Michonne or the papers. Truly he was thinking of Nayna. 

There wasn't a doubt in his mind that Daryl was helping Nayna. It hadn't taken Rick very long to realize Daryl had found her and had been stealing food from the store house to give to her. He was too good a tracker to not find her. She wasn't skilled enough to hide for very long. At least, not from Daryl. And Daryl usually came back nearly empty handed, which was also unlike him. Rick tried not to make a big deal out of it for he was eternally grateful that Daryl loved her enough to help her. She would come back when it was time. She just needed her space.

But fuck if he didn't miss the hell out of her. 

He wanted her to be here with him while he went over the mill or food or whatever. He wanted...he wanted to share the burden with her while laughing like they used to. Before Negan. He wanted to come home to her every night. Wanted to watch her tuck in Judith, encourage Carl. Wanted to hold her close and never let her go. Wanted to take her into his---no, their bed and strip all her worries and burdens away. 

Worries and burdens he'd put on her in the first place. It'd all started after Lori died and he'd lost his mind. It was Nayna who had stepped up for him. She hadn't wanted to, but she did it because she knew it had to be done. Because that's who she was. If only he could have been the man she needed...

He stopped short realizing Michonne wasn't beside him. Rick turned to find her standing with her arms crossed and her brows raised. But there was a hint of a smile on her face. He grinned sheepishly at her.

“Sorry, I was...”

“Thinking about Nayna?”

He chuckled. “You know me too well.”

Michonne wrapped an arm around his waist. “When it comes to her, you're like an open book Rick.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Both lost in their own thoughts.

She cleared her throat. “Negan still asking about her?”

Rick gazed off into the horizon.“Everyday. I think at this point he's doing it to piss me off.”

“Think he still doesn't--”

He cut his eyes back to Michonne and shook his head. “--no and he won't. It's not for him to know. She left to be free of him. He doesn't need to know anything else about her. I won't give him that.”

She patted his hip. “Okay, I just asked.”

He shook his head once. “Sorry. I just...”

“No, I understand. I really do.”

He smiled and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Thanks. I think you're the only one who does.”

 

Rick yawned his way through the mill and agricultural reports. He tried to focus and give ideas and redirect, but it was difficult. It was one of the things Nayna would have loved. Every time someone had an idea she gained a sparkle in her eye and her body trembled with held back excitement. Rick remembered how excited she got at the prison. How her hair had fallen free from her braid as she leaned over the table. She'd been too distracted to notice. But he hadn't. He'd noticed how her dark hair seemed to glimmer red in the sunlight. He'd seen the glossiness and he had wanted to run his fingers through it. Instead he reached up and tucked it back behind her ear. He remembered wanting to press his lips against hers that day. But he didn't. He wished he had. With all his heart he did. 

He remembered her jerking back and looking at him with wide, brown eyes. Doe eyes, as Daryl joked. Then she smiled and turned back to the papers strewn on the table, rubbing her fingers over her lips. And the moment was gone. And he'd pushed that feeling out of his mind. Until Negan came...

Olivia smiled and clapped her hands, bringing him back into the moment. “I think that's all I have for you, Rick.”

He nodded and rubbed his beard. “Good, thank you. Olivia can you do me a favor?”

She pushed her glasses up her nose and nodded. “Of course. What do you need?”

“I know it's my turn to take Negan supper, but would you mind? I still have to oversee the Inn and check in with Jesus. And I want to pick the kids up from class.”

She smiled. “Of course I can. It's no trouble.”

He patted her elbow. “Thank you, Olivia. I don't know what we'd do without you.”

She blushed. “Oh go on now. And take a tart. Carol made them with the latest batch of bread. They're delicious.”

He plucked one from the basket and grinned. “See ya later.”

As he opened the door, a rush of hot air blew in his face. Summer was well on its way. He only hoped the weather would hold out for the fair.

He sauntered along the walk way, nibbling on the tart Olivia had given him. How they'd taken something simple like bread for granted. She had been right. It was delicious. He'd have to stop and see Carol as soon as he had a free moment.

It was the same with Siddiq and Jesus. His mind kept drifting, though not enough for either to really notice. Or if they had, neither said anything. The Inn would be ready in two weeks for the fair and Jesus had several different rotations set up for security. 

Rick nodded and began to walk away but Jesus stopped him. “Hey, by the way. We found several new people.”

“Good, good. Michonne, Aaron and I will interview them tomorrow morning. Let them get some rest and food and all.”

Jesus smiled. “Sure thing Mr. Grimes.”

Rick laughed. “Don't call me that.”

Jesus tugged on the reigns of his restless horse. “Hey, if Dwight does it I can do it too.”

Rick shook his head. “Don't poke fun. He's doing his best.”

“Hey, I like Dwight. He's just a little anxious.”

“No kidding. Alright, I've gotta get Judy. I'm already late. Nancy will pitch a fit if I'm any more tardy.”

Jesus saluted him before digging his heels into the horses side. Rick watched them canter down the road before turning back to Alexandria. He smiled at the sight of the wind turbines, the mill, the solar panels. At everything they'd built.

It was bittersweet. If only Nayna were here with him...

 

After seeing Carl to bed and tucking a chattering Judith in with her dolly, Rick walked into his own empty room. He clicked on the light and sat at the edge of the bed. His bones ached with weariness and his heart from loneliness. Talking to ones children was not the same. Even with Michonne he couldn't share everything. Not after what he'd done to her.

He wanted to ask Daryl how Nayna was faring. But something always stopped him. If he asked then he would ask more and more until he was begging Daryl to bring her back. She wanted her space and he wanted her to come back willingly to him.

He bent down and began to pull his boots off. It had been a good day. Everything was finally falling into place. Within the week Maggie's people would start arriving and they would help the set up, the building.

The Sanctuary was due to make a supply run, bullets in exchange for more wood. Rick would have to speak with Dwight then. He stood and took his pants down and jerked his shirt off, letting both crumple to the floor.

He looked around the darkened bedroom and sighed. Even though she wasn't there, her presence loomed over him like a big cloud. The hole in his heart was too big to go unnoticed. It was why he tried to keep his days busy. And yet, he still thought of her constantly. Her ghost haunted every facet of his mind.

Just as he did every night, Rick rifled through his bedside table. Past the plans and papers. Past Shane...No, Nayna's hat. All the way to the bottom of the drawer until he came to the familiar envelope. He sat back against the head board and crossed his legs. He placed the envelope in his lap and closed his eyes.

Nayna. He tried to imagine her, but the more time went on, the less he remembered. The only image he could conjure in his mind was the one from the picture Glenn had taken four years ago. Tendrils of pain wrapped about his heart and he swallowed heavily before opening his eyes and pulling out the letter and the photo.

Try as he might to carefully preserve it, the photograph was a Polaroid and prone to crinkling and tearing. He smoothed it out against his leg with one hand while he unfolded the letter with his other hand.

Seeing her terrible handwriting put a smile to his lips. She should have been a doctor with that writing, not an agent. Six months ago he finally worked up the courage to ask Maggie about the song. She'd found an old iPod and played it for him. It only made the ache for Nayna worse. He'd broken her.

But it was his cross to bear. He'd broken her and now he couldn't piece her back together. He only hoped she found enough of herself to come back to him. He would do better for her. He loved her. Loved her in a way he'd never loved Michonne or Lori.

He just wanted her to come back to him...


	3. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is lateish guys. You know the saying that what can go wrong will go wrong during your spouse's deployment? So, so very true. They found a potentially cancerous tumor on my dog, so I've been dealing with that. Um, my updates across the board might be slower until she's taken care of. Good news is that the potential type of cancer is rarely fatal and there is a 50% chance it's just a lump.   
> Anyway, again, still looking for a beta if anyone would be interested :)

NEGAN

The days seemed to stretch out and fill into one another. He rarely ever knew the date. They rarely visited him, aside to bring food twice a day and to empty his shit bucket once a day. Conversation lulled, except when Carl stopped by. And it wasn't nearly often enough.

He was trapped, alone with his thoughts. A very dangerous place. When he kept himself busy he didn't have to think too hard. But when there was nothing to do...What else did one do in prison, if not think?

Negan didn't regret anything he'd done. Everything he'd done was for the greater good, was to rebuild what they had all lost. He and Rick had that same goal. Just different methodology.

The door opened and he pushed himself against the bars, squinting up the stairs. He smirked inwardly as he saw a pair of cowboy boots. If it wasn't Rick fucking Grimes himself. He brushed invisible dirt off his pants and stood up, ready to greet Rick.

Rick sauntered over to him with a food tray, holding his stare.

He smiled. “It's been too long, Rick. How's Nayna?”

Rick said nothing and put the tray on the ground, sliding it closer to the bars with his foot.

“C'mon, it's been such a long fucking time. Will you at least tell her I said hello? Ask her how she's been? You know, since she fucking shot me. Ask her why she hasn't bothered to come visit me. I mean, come on Rick, we both know how much she fucking wanted me. She feeling guilty in that big fat fucking heart of hers? Or are you two too busy humping like bunnies? You make her walk funny?”

Rick stood at the foot of the stairs and turned to him smiling. “Have you noticed how little you use profanity nowadays, Negan?”

He pushed himself off the bars and shrugged. “Too much fucking effort. Better to save my energy.”

Rick only smiled wider. “No, it's because I've fucking neutered you like a fucking dog. You've got no fight left, you pathetic sack of shit...Have a nice evening.”

His hands curled into fists and he glanced over his shoulder, glaring at Rick's retreating back.“Enjoy that pussy while you can, Rick. We both know I'm not going to be in here forever. And when I get out, she's the first thing I'm taking back.”

He took the bait. Negan nearly giggled with glee as Rick came back down the stairs. But that rat bastard still fucking smiled. “You think you're such hot shit, Negan. You're going to die here behind bars. You wanna know about Nayna? I'll tell you this. If ever came down to that, my money is on her. You fucking remember what happened the last time you two squared off...Enjoy your food you fucking animal.”

Negan gritted his teeth together and Rick stomped back up the stairs. While it was nice to know he'd gotten under Rick's skin, something else bothered him. It was fairly normal for Rick to ignore questions about Nayna. But it wasn't normal for him to engage. Something wasn't right there. And he was going to find out.

It was hard not to think about her with all the time he spent in his head. No matter what he tried to distract himself with it always came back down to her. Sometimes when he thought of her he had nothing but anger. Sometimes it was longing—though he tried not to be a party to that—he'd been alone for so long he'd take any piece of ass. He tried to push away thoughts that she was more than that out of his mind, but they kept bubbling to the surface.

He still saw her as belonging to him. She was still his, would always be his. He still felt a certain amount of possession over her. And something...

In the end it didn't fucking matter. She never came to see him, probably never wanted to see him again. Not that he could fucking blame her. He'd been cruel to her, unnecessarily so. He had wanted to see her hurting, just as much as she'd hurt him. It hadn't quite given him the satisfaction he'd desired. Instead, the memory of her crumpling face haunted him. And he wanted to...No, it didn't fucking matter. If she hadn't come in the first few days he'd been locked up, she would never come again.

He thought he'd had no feelings and then fucking Nayna showed up and broke that. She reminded him of...her. With her sarcasm and witty comebacks and her soft side. And the fact that no matter what she'd loved him. It'd been real for her. He hadn't felt like a piece of dog shit until Nayna had told him that he'd killed her. And he was a piece of shit. She'd been the one person who fucking stood by his side while Dwight was betraying him, while fucking Rick was planning against him. And he'd fucking treated her horribly. Of course she fucking shot him, there was no getting around that.

Maybe, if he had regrets, they'd be about her and what he'd done to her. But she'd been a means to an end. He couldn't regret it because he'd needed her. He was callous and ruthless and he fucking needed her. He didn't know why he fucking needed her, aside from breaking down Rick. But he'd kept her, long after he'd broken Rick down. Or thought he had. He still didn't fucking know why he did.

Over the years he'd gotten used to and even appreciated his lack of remorse, lack of feelings. Feelings and emotions only got in the way of getting shit done. They got in the way of surviving. But surviving wasn't living. He was fucking surviving here in the fucking jail. But this wasn't fucking living.

He stared at the wall. He was so fucking broken. And Nayna came only and he'd felt that flicker of hope...And it fucked him in the end. And her too. And here he fucking was, still thinking about her, still wondering. And he didn't fucking know why he cared.

Negan settled back down on the bed, resting his elbows on his thighs. He picked at his nails. No one ever spoke to him about her. Not Olivia, not Carl and especially not Rick. No matter how many times he asked, he always got the same answer. Silence. Which was odd, come to think of it. If she was happy wouldn't Rick want to gloat to his face? He would. Something bigger had to be going on between him and Nayna. Or Rick was trying to protect her. Or she was fucking dead and it hurt everyone to talk about her.

Dead seemed like a possibility. Especially after their conversation and the fact that he'd heard she went fucking nutso when she shot him—screaming, clawing at her face, begging for them to kill her. But if Nayna were dead, he'd know about it. Wouldn't he? He grimaced. He was pissed at her, but he didn't want her dead.

He hadn't wanted to fucking care about her. But somehow the bitch managed to worm her way into his heart. And she stayed, even now. But he would barely admit it to himself, much less anyone else.

There was nothing he could do but wait.

 

Later that evening the door opened again and a softer tread came down the stairs. Negan smiled when he saw Carl's face, fluttering in the light of the candle he held. He put the candle down near the cell and went to get the stool.

Thank fucking god. He needed someone to fucking entertain him.

Carl kicked over the stool and sat down in front of Negan. “He said maybe.”

Negan nodded. “We'll get to that. First--”

Carl sighed. “--you know I'm not allowed to talk about her.”

He pretended to pout. “Why not?”

Carl stopped and stared at him. “Dad's rules. And I don't...not with you.”

Negan almost smiled as Carl squirmed and shrugged. Even Carl was tetchy tonight about Nayna. What the fuck was setting everyone on edge? But he'd have to be careful.

He crossed his arms over his chest, putting on a look of mock concern.“Something wrong? She sick? Going to give Rick some crotch fruit?”

Carl wrinkled his nose. “What?”

“Crotch fruit...You know,” Negan said, making a rounded gesture over his belly.

Carl looked taken aback, one brow raised. “Uh...no...”

It was the most he'd gotten out of Carl in the first place. Something must be bothering the boy if he was entertaining conversation about his surrogate mother. 

Negan snorted. “Never had kids of my own. Not sure if I ever fucking wanted any...Anyway, your father said maybe? Well I told you that's the best you could hope for.”

Carl stared at the floor and shrugged. Negan raked a hand through his hair.

“You look upset. Is it because of your dad?”

Carl sighed and shook his shaggy head. “Me and Mikey and some of the other kids went over to Anna's house after class. She um, showed us her boobs. It was cool and all, but before all that, I kind of...liked her, you know?”

Negan snorted. To be sixteen again. Shit hadn't really fucking changed. “And you don't now? Why?”

Carl wouldn't meet his eyes. “I just don't want a girlfriend who does that kind of stuff, you know?”

“What's wrong with it? She's just looking for a little attention. Doesn't mean there is something wrong with her, or that she runs around flashing everyone. I mean, does she?”

Carl's head snapped up. “No. I mean, not that I know of.”

He shrugged. “Okay, so the girls dad probably doesn't pay enough attention to her. Don't hold it against her. Is that why you're so morose?”

Carl scuffed his feet on the floor and shrugged again. “I guess. That and my dad saying maybe.”

Negan nodded. “You dad seems very overprotective. Not that there is anything wrong with that.”

Carl said nothing and stared at the opposite wall, seemingly lost in thought. 

Time to edge in, to push for an answer. Negan cleared his throat. “How does Nayna feel about all this? Is she the reason your dad is saying maybe?”

“No.”

Negan leaned forward in anticipation. This is what he was looking for. “So Nayna's completely okay with you going to live far away?”

Carl gripped his forearm and shrugged again, refusing to meet Negan's eyes. “I don't know.”

He raised his brows. “You don't know? Isn't she like your mom or something?”

“I should go,” Carl pushed himself off the stool and picked up the lamp.

Fuck, he'd pushed too far. Well, maybe over time....

“Carl.”

The boy stopped and turned back to Negan with a raised brow. 

Negan stood and walked over to the bars. “I want you to know, I really do appreciate our little talks...It really breaks up my days. Helps me...mark time. I think they're good for you, too, having someone to talk to.”

Carl gave a half smile accompanied with a nod. “Yeah, sure. I'll try to come back tomorrow.”

He tilted his head to the side. “Before you go...tell me something. After all this time...all these talks...the things we've shared. Do you still want to kill me?”

“You know I do, Negan.”

He stepped back, genuinely confused. “How would I know you still want to kill me? After all our time together...after everything we've shared? Honestly, it comes as quite a shock. And don't insult my intelligence. Would I have bothered asking if I knew the answer?”

Carl's back was still to him. “Sorry.”

“I thought we were friends?”

But he pulled the door shut with a snap and left Negan alone. 

“Fucking fuck,” Negan sighed and slammed his fist on the bars. 

He was getting nowhere. And fast.

 

Rick didn't come again until mid-afternoon the next day. By that time Negan was ravenous and irritated. And in the mood to poke the shit out of Rick. Subtle wasn't doing it for him anymore.

“You know,” Negan said as Rick jogged down the stairs with his food. “This always reminds me of the best and worst part of my day. The worst being the fact that I have to shit in a fucking bucket. The best is knowing that you're the one cleaning out my shit bucket.”

Rich shrugged. “Yeah, I'm just here bringing your food. Someone else will be here to clean out your bucket later.”

“Took you long enough.”

He stopped and stared at Negan who grinned and held out his hand for the tray. But Rick put it on the floor, making Negan roll his eyes. 

“I'm hurt!” He said, putting a hand to his chest. “I thought we were building trust here.”

Rick said nothing, only acknowledging him with a twitch of his brow. He was somewhere else, far from Negan. Probably thinking about her. Perfect.

“So, tell me something Rick. I think it's fucking owed to me. Why are you avoiding questions about Nayna? Don't you think it's time to let bygones be bygones?”

Rick held Negan's stare once again as he kicked the tray across the room. But again he said nothing. Fucker.

Negan slammed his hand against the bars. “Is she fucking dead? Is that why none of you will talk about her?”

“Tell me why you care, Negan. She shot you. She's the reason you're in here.”

Negan dragged his hand through his long hair. “You're the fucking reason I'm here, Rick. She's the fucking reason I'm...fuck you. She belongs to me. That's why I fucking want to know.”

“She's not a possession,” Rick said in his obnoxiously calm voice, still staring him down.

Negan grinned. “So she is alive then.”

Rick smiled and tossed his head. “You realize she doesn't give two fucks about you? Doesn't ask about you, doesn't fucking want you.”

Negan pulled a peanut butter and jelly sandwich from the bag and examined it. “She's smart enough to know better. Doesn't mean she doesn't think about me, dream about me, fantasize about me when you two are...making love.”

Rick turned away and picked the candle up. “Honestly, Negan, I think if it weren't for me or Olivia...no one would think about you at all.”

He squinted up at Rick as he took a monstrous bite of the sandwich. Fucking bastard. Fucking smug dickheaded bastard. And yet, he couldn't help but have a grudging respect for Rick and all he'd done. More to the point, Rick was still protecting Nayna. As for why, he didn't know.

As Rick ascended the stairs, Negan called after him. “Hey, a fucking haircut would be fucking nice, you know. I'm not a fucking woman, I don't need long luscious locks like Nayna.”

The door slammed shut behind Rick, leaving Negan alone in semi-darkness with only his thoughts to keep him company. He laid down on the bed, crossing his feet at the ankles, arms folded behind his head.

There were three-hundred and twenty-seven swirls in the ceiling directly above his bed. Forty two cracks in the bricks of his cell. Seventy-six bars in the cell containing him.

Why did Rick feel the need to protect her? That was the million dollar question. She'd never needed protection. Except for herself.

Negan chewed on his lip, staring at the three-hundred and twenty-seven swirls on the ceiling. He was thinking about her far too much for his liking. But there was nothing else to fucking focus on. He could either sleep or think. Or sleep or think. Or shit and sleep.

This time Negan chose sleep.

 

The next person he saw was the fat woman. Olivia was her name. He pushed himself against the bars and grinned at her as she clomped down the stairs in a pair of ridiculous looking shoes and a hideously blue and gray skirt. Her drab mousy hair hung in frizzy waves around her fat face. She was even more closed mouth than fucking Rick. 

“How's Nayna?”

Olivia rolled her eyes, but said nothing as she handed him the sack of food and a bottle of water. He took it and rifled through the bag. Another fucking peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Jesus fucking ballsacks. He was mighty fucking tired of sandwiches. And water.

“Think you could ask the chef to make me some other fucking food? This is my fifth sandwich this week.”

Olivia snorted. “Just think, some prisoners get slop. At least you're getting real food, Negan.”

He grunted as he dropped the sack at his feet. “You know how you say a word so many times and it stops sounding like a fucking word? Yeah, that's about where I'm at with fucking peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.”

She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Will you pass a message along for me?”

Olivia turned away. “No.”

“Oh come on--”

“--Negan, no matter how much you wheedle me and beg, I can't give a message to her.”

“What do you mean, can't? She fucking incapacitated? Retarded? Dead?”

Olivia's face paled in the flickering light. He grinned inwardly, he caught her. Oh yes, he had caught her. 

Negan slammed his hand on the bars making her recoil and stumble backwards. “What the fuck is going on here?”

She watched him with wide blue eyes. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

He slapped the bars again. “Yes, you fucking do. No one will tell me about her. You all know something and you won't fucking tell me.”

He watched with a chuckle as Olivia scrambled up the stairs and slammed the door shut behind her. That had been too easy. What the fuck was with everyone? He sighed and sat back down on the bed to wait. 

Fuck the food. Fuck the Alexandrians. Fuck Rick fucking Grimes. And fuck Nayna. He was torn from the amusement he got from them squirming when he asked about her and the horrid idea that she might be gone.

Olivia said she couldn't give a message to Nayna. Not that she wouldn't. What the fuck was going on? Was Rick lying and she really was dead? It gnawed at his belly.

 

The door creaked opened later that night, waking him. Negan sat up, blinking as he was pulled from the throes of sleep. He squinted at the light at the top of the stairs. The fuck? Rick never visited him in the middle of the night. No one did. Not even Carl.

An unknown woman was speaking. “Right. Rick wanted to seem transparent, but there's something that just doesn't sit right about this place. They're hiding something. I aim to find it.”

Negan jumped up and pressed himself to the edge of the bars, his heart pounding. Holy shit, this was too fucking good. They must be new. Maybe he could fucking convince them to let him go. 

Three pairs of feet trudged down the stairs. Two men, one woman. The woman seemed to be the leader. Showtime.

“Oh thank god!” he cried, putting on his best tortured expression. “You have to help me! You have to get me away from these horrible people. Hurry, they're animals. Before someone comes back.”

The three of them jumped back, startled.

The woman blinked at him, the shock clearly written on her face. “It's the middle of the night.”

He stepped back and looked down, his hair hanging lankly in his face. “I lose track of time sometimes. But he comes down here in the middle of the night....does things...unspeakable things...I never know when he'll come back.”

He looked up at them through his lashes, but the blonde woman exchanged a look with one of her comrades. 

He stepped up to the bars again. “Please, they're animals! They've tortured me! Please, if you can't let me out at least pass a message along to my wife—Nayna! Her name is Nayna.”

The blonde girl raised a brow. “You don't look like you've been tortured. You look pretty well taken care of.”

Negan sighed and fell back. He stumbled backwards onto the chair. “Well, can't blame me for trying. Will you still pass along a message for me? Tell Nayna I'm utterly devoted to her and I will wait.”

The girl quirked her brow at him. “Yeah, well, never heard of her.”

His head snapped up.“What?”

How in the fuck? Unless...

“Her name is Meghan.”

The three of them shook their heads. 

“She's...she's the fun-sized girl with the bow. Likes to pretend she's in the fucking Hunger Games...Dark hair, dark fuck-me eyes.”

The blonde crossed her arms over her chest. “Never seen anyone like that.”

“She fucking hangs out with Rick!”

She shook her head again. “Nope. Sorry.”

He stared at the floor for a couple beats. How the fuck could they not know? And suddenly dead seemed less like a possibility and more like a reality. His heart contracted, only confusing him further. He cleared his throat. No, he couldn't do this now. He didn't fucking want to think about her anymore. The more he thought about her...

He shook his head, as if to clear his thoughts. “Name's Negan. Think you might want to sit and chat a bit? I'm mighty lonely.”

But the three of them turned away and went back up the stairs, leaving Negan alone with his mind once more. 

He sighed. “Damn it.”

Nayna...


	4. Whispers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poll time! I'm fairly curious as to who everyone thinks Nayna should end up with. It probably won't have an bearing on the story, but I'm interested. And I'm interested as to why. So what does everyone think? Negan? Rick? No one?

DARYL

 

He unhitched the horse from the cart, allowing it to drink from the cool, trickling stream. Daryl squatted down and dipped his own hands in the water. He savored the cool drip down his throat. After several large gulps he splashed it over his face and hair, a sad attempt at washing away the sweat and grime of travel.

The sky shone bright in the sky, nearly blinding him when he glanced around the clearing. Empty, but he had the uneasy feeling they were being followed. When he looked around he only saw the forest ahead and the green clearing behind him. Rolling his shoulders he popped his neck at the same time, easing the tension from his stiff body. Hours in the wagon gave way to sore muscles.

Daryl brushed flecks of dirt and gravel from his pants. He'd long ago crossed the border from Alexandria into the wilderness. Slipping between the patrols proved difficult at the best of times, without a horse. A horse and cart made it damn near impossible. He could have sworn Jesus saw him in the distance, but he'd rounded the corner too fast for Daryl to tell. No one came after him. As far as he could tell...

He pushed himself up with a grunt and patted the horse's neck with a quick tap, tap. Though his instincts were on high alert, his rational mind thought it had more to do with Michonne's earlier comments. He was tetchy knowing they suspected something. And then with Jesus almost spotting him...Something that he just couldn't afford. Not yet. 

He strode back to the wagon and skimmed his fingers across the rough wood. This was the last trip he could make until fall. It would just have to last beyond the next two and a half months. Daryl had scraped and scrounged to find enough to trade for all the supplies. And what he couldn't trade for, he stole. Something he hadn't done in a long fucking time. Since Merle lived. Stealing shouldn't have been a necessity. He went hungry half the time unless he relied on the charity of Michonne and Rick. He hated it. And he hated her for making him do it.

She swore up and down she didn't need him. But she did. Nayna was hard-headed and stubborn, doing the work of three men, but often it wasn't enough. If it had been just her, he would have let her get on with it and said the hell with her. If it had just been her it would have been enough.

But he couldn't look at that baby and not think of himself, starving and cold. He couldn't look at her and not think of Sophia. Or even Judith. Or hell, even Nayna when he'd first found her in Quantico, sitting in her old house staring at a picture of her dead husband. That Nayna was worse than hospital-Nayna. She's looked at him with hollowed eyes and told him that she was going to have a baby.

That baby with her dark, dark curly hair, enormous hazel eyes, clefted chin and those damnable dimples. But she was the very picture of her dark haired, brown-eyed mother, right down to the short, straight nose on her face, to the thin down turn of her lips, and the thick, scowling brows. Nayna was slightly more pointed of chin, but her daughter would grow into it. Her daughter, the very picture of Nayna herself, would grow up to be far more beautiful than her mother.

And just as deadly and charming as her father. She had the thousand watt smile and the penchant for naughtiness. Agatha would just as likely smile and slit your throat while doing it. Daryl only hoped some of Nayna's sweeter nature would rub off on the baby. But he doubted it. He hadn't seen her sweeter nature in years. Maybe Aggie would grow up just as scattered and anxious as her mother. Or as cold and hard as her father. 

Though, Aggie was hardly a baby anymore. She was still portable, which made her a baby in his eyes. Hell, even Judith was still a baby in his eyes and she was four years old. Last time Daryl left Agatha toddled around on wobbly feet, shouting “'oogers!” at the top of her lungs. He was proud to say he taught her that one, his own brand of personal torment for Nayna and her snot hating ways. He snickered every time she gagged at the word. 

She had looked up at him and called him an asshole. And the feeling was mutual. 

Especially now.

Daryl pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. He held it between his lips as he rifled through the supplies for a lighter. Bandages, twine, matches, canned fruit and vegetables, bottled water, different types of fabric from denim to cotton. Food for Lucille the goat. Food for the damned dogs that Nayna insisted on keeping for protection. Chicken feed. Wire mesh. A couple pails, cookware, knives. Other various knick-knacks and toys for Aggie. He found it under a pile of blankets. 

The tenseness and anxiety in his body started to dissipate with the first drag. Thank fucking God. Out of habit, he eyed the horizon again. Still nothing. But he felt considerably calmer. 

He knew when he pulled up Nayna would greet him with a look and then gaze guiltily at her feet. She would offer him food or whatever she could. After Agatha went to bed she would lay her head on his shoulder and thread her arm through his. Then she would smile, soft and a little dreamy and thank him. She would tell him that she loved him and she was glad he was there. But he wasn't. He fucking hated it. He didn't want her praise or her gratitude. All he wanted was to bring her back to Alexandria and dump her and Aggie on Rick's front porch. Let Rick take care of her. Let someone else fucking do it. Anyone else.

And as he was leaving Nayna would hand him jerky to take back, or goose or whatever she hunted. He suspected that she gave him everything she got while hunting—as guilt money, payback, whatever. He took it and used it to trade for whatever he could and then when it ran out...Well, Daryl did what he had to do, just like always.

He leaned back against the wagon and wiped the sweat from his brow, flicking the ashes away from the cart with his other hand. He was getting too fucking old for this shit. Too old, too tired, too...angry.

And he was angry at her. God was he ever angry for making him do this for her. And yet, somewhere deep in his heart, he had that soft spot for lost little girls. And what was Nayna, if not a lost little girl trying to play house?

He didn't want to think about it. Daryl put the cigarette to his lips and took another drag, staring out into the blue, blue sky. He figured he had another two or three hours under the baking sun before he would reach the little farm. As he leaned back to blow the smoke into the air the horse nickered and side stepped. Glancing around the side of the cart he saw her staring at the woods, slightly tossing her head. He sighed and put the cigarette out on the bottom of his boot and flicked the butt away, grunting as he pushed himself off the wagon.

“Whoa, girl,” he said and placed a gentle open palm on the side of her neck.

Merry turned her head so one eye stared into his. 

He furrowed his brow. “What is it?”

Of course she didn't answer, she was a fucking horse. But Daryl didn't like the way she pawed at the ground or the way her tail flipped back and forth. 

Again, the feeling that he was being watched buzzed in his mind. And this time he didn't ignore it. He yanked his knife free and revolved, looking for any signs of life. But there was nothing more than the soft sigh of the wind rustling the leaves on the trees and the trickling of the stream. He continued to scan the woods ahead for anything. But there wasn't even a damned animal to be seen nor heard. That scared him more than the potential of people being near. No animals meant danger. 

Daryl burst into frenzied action with his knife between his teeth, dragging Merry back to the cart and began to work on getting her hitched. As he tried to secure the ropes, his fingers kept fumbling and shaking. Every few seconds he would glance over his shoulder and grimace. Still nothing. 

He pressed his lips into a thin line over the cool steel of the knife as he tied the last knot. Merry nickered and stamped her front hooves, her own anxiety fueled by his. 

The hair on his arms began to stand on edge. Suddenly, the sky was too blue, the sun was too bright, especially for this section of the woods, the grass was too green. He curled his fingers around the harness as he scanned the trees, yet again. And again, he found nothing. An eerie nothing.

He tossed his knife up on the seat and swung himself back into the wagon and snapped the reins again Merry's back. “Go.”

She snorted and cantered forward. If he pushed, they could make it in an hour and a half. But the horse might be dead by then. Not that Nayna would have necessarily minded. Her hatred of horses was legendary. He smiled to himself as the picture of 'Ole Fucker'—as Nayna used to call him—threw her off repeatedly. Sweetest horse that ever lived and yet something about her anxiety set the poor animal on edge. It was amusing, considering how much she loved animals. Except geese. She hated geese.

Daryl shook his head, bringing himself back to the present as Merry pulled them through the clearing. Not the time to be dragged back to the past. He instinctively reached for his knife, still unable to shake that uneasy feeling.

As he guided Merry across the stream he cursed Nayna. Why did she have to live so fucking far out? Of course he fucking knew why, but today her solitude pissed him off.

Too busy looking over his shoulder he didn't notice the Walker right in front of him until Merry screamed and reared back, kicking out with her front legs. He grasped the reins and tugged her to the side. As the wagon lurched, his knife skidded across the smooth wood seat and into the grass below. The Walker fell back on its ass and Daryl reached for his crossbow with one hand. 

When he glanced up there were more surrounding him. At least twelve. Fucking fuck. He stood and fired the first bolt into the head of the nearest Walker. The gush of bright red blood stopped him in his tracks. He watched, fascinated as the Walker fell to its knees and forward with its own blood, real blood, puddling around its head.

Merry's screams brought him back to the present and he yanked the string back in place with a trembling hand. After snapping the bolt in place he aimed at the next Walker, who did not bleed, but landed in the red water beside the other. Daryl stared down at the darkened grass, sickened.

He jumped when the next one grabbed his elbow and without thinking he slammed the butt of the crossbow in its face.

It grunted and stumbled back, grabbing its nose. What.the.fuck? Walkers didn't feel pain. Didn't feel anything but fucking hunger. What the fuck was going on? 

But he knew he was a sitting duck if he stayed in the cart. The shrieking of the horse told him it was too late for Merry. But maybe he could get away. Come back for the supplies later. Fucking hell, Nayna. He had to tell her...

One of the Walkers punched him in the gut and he stumbled back with an 'oof,' dropping his crossbow on the ground. He scrambled on hands and knees to get it but one of them kicked him in the stomach. He gagged and rolled on to his back, thrusting his foot upwards and catching whatever kicked him in the groin.

The Walker staggered back, grabbing his crotch, gasping for air. Gasping? What? Daryl shook his head and snagged a rock. Wasn't the time for confusion. He knocked the fake Walker's feet from under him and smashed the rock into its head.

He stood, prepared to run, but three of them came at him from each side, all carrying knives. No...carrying was the wrong word. Wielding. They were wielding knives and walking straight backed and proud.

They'd seen Walkers carrying things before, but never...They weren't alive. They didn't think...Daryl's brain whirled trying to make sense of everything. 

And they were closing in on him, fast. He was fucked.


	5. Letting Go

RICK

Rick smiled to himself as he leaned on the door frame, watching his son survey his nearly empty room. It was a bittersweet feeling, knowing Carl was leaving. He felt immensely proud and yet there was anxiety knowing how far away his son would be from him. Since almost the beginning, his son had been firmly yolked to his side. That link was about to be broken and it took everything Rick had to not cry.

Carl's whole life was stuffed two duffel bags thrown haphazardly on the bed. Both were nearly full to bursting as Carl attempted to shove even more clothes inside.

Rick cleared his throat, making Carl jump. “You don't have to take everything, you know. This is still your home.”

Carl rolled his eyes and stepped back towards the bed. “Dad, the Hilltop is gonna be my home.”

“Yeah, but I'm your dad and my home is your home, son.”

That earned Rick a smile. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Maybe I'll come back one day and be the town blacksmith.”

He stepped forward and slid his arm around Carl's shoulders, squeezing him tight. “I hope so.”

Carl reached up and awkwardly patted Rick's back. “Uh, Dad? I love you and all, but I need to finish packing.”

Carl was still a few inches shorter than him, so Rick kissed the top of his head, chuckling at the face Carl made. “Alright, but you need to hurry up. Daylights wasting.”

He turned back to his duffel bags.“Yes, Dad.”

Rick stood there, his heart aching at the thought of his only son, his eldest child, leaving him. Though Carl was hardly a child anymore, he'd always be that little freckle faced boy who looked up at Rick with such earnest, loving eyes. Lori's eyes. He tried not to think of all the years where those eyes had been hollow and almost cold. 

Letting go wasn't easy, and in this world even less so. They'd made it a safer world, but there were still the dead lurking and looming about. Rick feared that many people forgot what it was like to live in fear. Something he was grateful for, and yet it nagged the back of his mind, knowing that people weren't fearful enough. 

How could he let go of the son he'd almost lost so many times? Carl had been shot twice, gone missing more times than he could count, almost been bitten several times. But he couldn't protect Carl forever. He had to trust his son to take care of himself. Had to have enough trust in himself that he'd raised Carl to be on his own. 

“Dad?” Carl's voice cut into Rick's thoughts. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

Rick grasped his son's shoulder. “You'll understand one day, Carl. When you have children of your own, you'll understand how this feels.”

Carl's brow furrowed as he looked painfully at his father. “Okay, Dad, you're starting to freak me out.”

Rick laughed and held up his hands. “I'm going, I'm going. I've got to drop Judy off with Michonne, so you've got an hour to have your stuff in the cart, okay? Say your goodbyes, change your mind.”

Carl rolled his eye. “Okay, Dad. Go away.”

Rick backed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He sighed and leaned on the wall opposite of Carl's door. The ache would just not go away. He sighed and swiped his watery eyes.

“Daddy?”

He glanced up and smiled at Judith who was peering at him from the crack in her door. 

She opened the door wider and put her hands on her hips. “I wanna go with you.”

His little girl...Judith looked so much like Lori, with her pouty lip, wrinkled nose. Rick reached out and tugged one of her blonde pigtails, making her squint up at him with suspicion. He chuckled and stroked his fingers down her baby soft face.

“Not this time, tiny turtle.”

“But, Daddy,” she whimpered sticking out her bottom lip. It took everything Rick had not to laugh at her.

He walked over and picked her up. God, she was getting so big and heavy. “You're staying with Aunt Michonne. Don't you think it'll be fun? You'll get to stay up late and gossip.”

Judith rolled her eyes. “Daddy, I'm four. I'm too big for all that.”

He laughed. His baby girl was four. Carl was sixteen, almost seventeen. Both of his children were growing up far too fast for his liking. He swallowed against the flood of emotion and cradled her to his chest. As much as she would allow.

He tilted his head to the side. “I bet Aunt Michonne has a new dolly for you to play with.”

She shook her blonde curls. “Nu-uh!”

“Yeah-huh!”

“What kind of doll?”

Rick shifted so she was higher on his hip. “You'll just have to go over there and find out, now won't you?”

Judith sighed. “It better not be another princess doll.”

Rick carried her into the very pink and purple bedroom and sat with her on the bed. She snuggled against his chest.

He set his chin upon the top of her head, instinctively rocking back and forth. As if she were still a tiny baby. “Well, what kind of doll do you want?”

She squirmed.“I want a hunter girl!”

Rick gazed down at her, raising a brow. “A hunter girl?”

“You know,” she looked up at him with innocent blue eyes. “Like Aunt Nayna.”

He smiled even as a sharp pain stung his heart. Of course she would. She'd grown up hearing stories of the things Nayna had done. How Nayna had been there for her birth, how she'd punched the Governor in the face, how she'd practically thrown Carl over her shoulder and walked a mile, just to drag his ass back to the prison the first time he ran away. Those were stories everyone else told her. Michonne, Maggie, Carol. But Rick liked to tell her the other stories. The ones no one bothered to remember. He liked to tell her about the time Judith got her first cold and Nayna had sat in a steaming bathroom with her all day. Or how she liked to sing to Judith when she thought no one was listening. Rick liked to tell her about all the little beautiful moments that made up Nayna and her heart. Those were the important ones. 

Her bravery, her shooting...those were just legends. Those were things anyone could do. No, he knew the kind of legacy Nayna wanted to leave behind. So, he told her how thoughtful and kind Nayna was. Brave and strong, yet equally sweet and loving. How she gave everything for her family. And then some.

Nayna's ghost was everywhere lately. When he turned the corner and smelled freshly baked bread, he thought how much she would love it. Or when he helped the committee plan the fair, he thought of how much she'd love it. Or when he looked at his children, he ached knowing how much it probably hurt her to miss out on all these little moments with them. Normally, Rick was able to keep the thoughts about her at bay. But with the extra hustle and bustle and the turning of the seasons, he longed for her. All of this, he wanted to share with the woman he loved and it nearly killed him to not be able to do so.

“Daddy?” Judith whispered, breaking into his thoughts. “Are you sleeping?”

He hadn't even been aware that he'd closed his eyes. He gazed down at his daughter with her wide eyes and her freckled face and he squeezed her tight. “No, I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about letting me come too?” 

Rick kissed Judith's forehead. “Come on, Aunt Michonne is waiting for you, tiny turtle.”

Judith rolled her eyes and sighed heavily. “Okay, but only because there's a dolly involved.”

He chuckled and put her on the floor, slipping her tiny hand into his. “Well alright then.”

 

An hour and many tears later, Rick tossed supplies in the cart as he waited for Carl. Out of the corner of his eye he could see his son chatting with a girl. He tried not to smile, but failed miserably as the girl tilted her head to the side, sucking on her lower lip, the way teenage girls did. Carl's hands were stuffed in his pockets as he shuffled his feet awkwardly. 

Rick shook his head, chuckling to himself as Carl's cheeks bloomed red. The girl—Anna?—slipped a note into his hand and kissed him on the cheek. She whirled around, her brown hair flying out behind her as she fled. His son swiftly stuffed the note into his pants before turning back to his father.

He frowned as he caught Rick staring. “What?”

Rick nodded in her direction. “Your girlfriend?”

Carl groaned and heaved himself into the front seat of the cart. “Dad.”

He jumped up beside Carl and took the reins. “You gonna read it?”

Carl snorted. “Yeah right. You're just nosy.”

He gave the reins a flick and they were off, waving to Carlos on patrol as they passed. He smiled down at Carl who was settled on the bench beside him, arms crossed over his chest, a pouting look on his face.

Rick couldn't help but muss up his hair. “I don't want to read your—hello, all clear?”

The man on horseback nodded. “All good, Mr. Grimes. Carl.”

His son gave a half-hearted wave and they continued on. Rick cleared his throat. “As I said before, I don't want to read your love letter, son.”

Carl rolled his eye. “It is not a love letter.”

Rick grinned. “How will you know unless you read it?”

“I can't even with you, Dad.”

Rick chortled to himself. Oh, he was going to miss teasing his son about girls. He had to turn his attention back to the road to hide his watery eyes. Carl was a man now, not a boy. It didn't make letting go any easier.

Another thought crept into his mind, itching at his brain. Rick's good humor was soured as he side-eyed his son. “So, why Negan?”

He looked up at Rick, startled. “What?”

They passed the old ruins, jingling their way to the path near the forest. Briefly, he thought about Daryl, who hadn't been back in a week. But it wasn't out of the ordinary for Daryl to be gone for weeks. Hell, once he'd been gone for three months last year. They'd feared he was dead or lay in a ditch dying. Rick had several men out looking for him for nearly a week straight after the third week. They'd found nothing. He and Carol had mourned privately. They were the only ones left from the Atlanta camp, and Daryl was their brother.

And then one day, he'd found Daryl sitting at the table, joking with Carl and tugging Judith's hair, looking thinner, but no worse for the wear. He'd claimed to have run into some trouble and eaten everything he'd hunted. Rick said nothing, knowing it was far bigger than that. Maybe it had been Nayna who'd run into the trouble. That was when he knew Daryl had been helping her out. Since then he'd noticed chickens, roosters, rabbits and even the ornery goat, went missing whenever he left. And he'd always come back nearly empty handed.

Carl frowned up at Rick. “Dad?”

He shook his head. “Sorry, Carl. What were you saying?”

Carl pursed his lips. “You were thinking about her, weren't you?”

He didn't feel the need to lie to his son anymore. “I was.”

“You're always thinking about her,” Carl muttered.

Rick tugged the reins, pulling the horses to a stop. He put his hand on Carl's shoulder. “Something you want to talk about?”

Carl shrugged. “I mean...Dad, she abandoned us. I don't know why you still...Why bother? She left and she's never coming back and...”

In all the time she'd left, Rick had never felt angry with her for going. Until then. Hearing the pain and the warble in Carl's voice sent a flash of anger through his chest. Nayna had always been a second mother to both of his children. So had Michonne, but Nayna had been there with Carl when Lori died. She'd held his son's hand, held his daughter. It never occurred to him how Carl might feel betrayed.

He pulled his son against him and squeezed. “Hey, it's okay to be angry at her, Carl.”

“Why should I think about her at all?” Carl snapped.

Rick's heart contracted painfully, torn between the woman he loved and his eldest child. “I know you're upset at her. I know you feel--”

“--Dad you have no idea how I feel.”

“Maybe I don't exactly know how you're feeling, but I do have an idea. It's hard enough losing your mom when you're so young. But for the woman who stepped into that role to disappear. I understand that you're hurting, son. I'm sorry.”

Carl's lips pressed together into a pout. Just like he did when he tried not to cry. He looked away from Rick, who gave him another squeeze.

He sniffed and wiped his nose with his arm. “She was never my mom.”

Rick picked up the reins again and clucked for the horses to move on. “Almost, Carl, you know that. I know you still love her, otherwise, you wouldn't feel so hurt by her leaving. But let me tell you this. Save your anger for those who truly deserve it. For those who have done terrible things. Not for people who...are driven to do things because they're broken.”

“You drove her away.”

He glanced down at his lap and sighed. “I did.”

“So I should be angry at you, then.”

Rick smiled wryly. “Maybe. But I wasn't the only one.”

Carl dragged a hand through his hair. The gesture annoyed him, reminding him far too much of Shane. But he ignored it.

“Negan,” Carl muttered finally.

“Yes, and I wanted—Wait, when was the last time you saw a patrol?”

Carl glanced around and shrugged. “It's been awhile...Look, I'm moving to Hilltop so you don't have to worry about him anymore. I was just...it got lonely for a while and Negan always...He had good advice and he was a good listener. I don't know. I still hate him. But...”

Rick frowned, squinting against the sunlight. “I'm always here to listen to you, Carl, I hope you know that.”

“Dad, it's just...it's different okay?”

“Alright, son. I just wanted--”

Carl's hand shot out, catching Rick at the chest. “Dad!”

Rick looked over his shoulder and nearly groaned at the impending Walkers. “For fucks sake. Where is the fucking patrol? Cover me, but don't shoot. Not yet.”

He yanked the red machete out of his belt and approached the six Walkers. He spun to his left, slashing the first one through the jaw and upwards. Then, he ducked to the right, shoving the blade into the face of the nearest Walker. By that time the other four had advanced on him enough to make him retreat back towards the cart. He lifted the machete high in the air and brought it down into the third Walker's head.

It fell to the ground, taking the weapon with it. Rick grunted and put his boot to its head, trying to wrest it free as the other three closed in on him. He felt a hand grasp at his shirt. His blood turned cold, they were too close...

BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! The remaining three dropped to the ground and Rick let out a sigh of relief, swallowing against the hammering in his throat. He reached back with his left hand and touched his sons knee in thanks. And of course to just be sure.

He stared at the ones Carl had shot. Fuck. He'd gotten too complacent too. It was easy to forget about the threat behind the great walls of Alexandria....He shuddered at the thought that history could repeat itself.


End file.
